


Like a Wolf in a Storm

by Lithosaurus



Series: Self Indulgent ASOIAF stuff [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, F/M, Feelings between Rhaegar and Lyanna are not limited to the romantic, POV Lyanna Stark, Rhaegar critical, Robert's Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-08 05:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17380253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lithosaurus/pseuds/Lithosaurus
Summary: When Lyanna discovers that Rhaegar was hiding her father's and brother's deaths from her, she realizes she switched one prison of a marriage for another. She rides from the Tower of Joy, intent on setting things straight. This has a few consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

Lyanna focused on the feel of her mare beneath her. The hills of the marches were red with exposed earth and brown with dead plants. The hooves of the horses kicked up dust that coated her hair and face. The Dornish called it winter but it was hotter now than the warmest of summers in Winterfell. She was half a world away from home, a winter wolf lost in sand.

A winter wolf with a dragon in her belly.

It had all seemed so perfect when Rhaegar spoke to her at Harrenhall. She could ride off with a prince out of the songs, escaping her marriage to the Stormlander oaf, and live with the freedom of a queen. It had been perfect until Rhaegar rode away in a hurry one night. Neither Ser Arthur nor the wetnurse would speak a word of why. She had found the letter this morning and had made her decision within minutes.

Father and Brandon were dead. War was coming to the realm. Her prince had ridden away, leaving her alone in a tower with a babe in her belly and whispers of a prophecy. The reins in front of her blurred as tears welled in her eyes. Lyanna blinked them away. Tears wouldn’t bring back her family or get her to safety faster. They’d only steal more water from her body.

Ser Arthur’s fine charger was carrying every water skin she could grab from the tower. She felt bad for leaving the kind-hearted knight tied in the privy with an aching head but not too bad; he was her captor after all, not her protector as she had once thought. She knew how to ride for days at a time in the Wolfwood and done her best as she prepared to flee, but this was Dorne, with unforgiving sun and sand that stung her face. She had water for a few more days and no friendly harbor within sight. Maybe she would die here, another victim of the war she helped to start, but she was a wolf. If she was to die, it would be after a fight.

The charger began to flag first. There was only so much water she could give the horses off of dry grass and her limited supply. As they traveled south, Ser Arthur had shown her how to dig for water in cracked river banks but she didn’t know the trick herself. The great beast was dead on its hooves by the time she caved and rode into a village that could have fit into Winterfell’s blacksmithy. The goatherders eyed her suspiciously and practically stole the charger from her but she left after a single night with more appropriate clothing, two new skins, and fresh water.

The travelling grew easier but her body grew more difficult. Stones in a strap of leather earned her fresh meat, though it often fought to come back up. Water grew more plentiful as she left the mountains and entered the farmlands of the Reach. Food, water, and milder weather almost balanced out the visible swell of her belly.

She was camped on the side of muddy track disguised as a road when the Tyrell soldiers marched by. ‘Soldiers’ was probably generous. They were a rough assembly of boys from the nearest holdfast armed with pitchforks and sickles.

“You there! Boy!” A man barked at her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “You ready to fight for your liege?”

Lyanna froze. Her head scarf hid her long, dark, northron hair and her blanket disguised her form.

“Who for, m’lord?” She asked, in a low voice.

“Who for?” He laughed. He wore a rusted breastplate and sat a nag of a horse. “The nothron savages and stormland bastards are rebelling. Lord Tyrell needs every capable boy to lay siege on Storm’s End. Your horse would do well for us.”

Lyanna swallowed. “ ‘Fraid not m’lord. My mother sent me on a task specially and my father is off already.”

He scowled. “Cravens rot in the seven hells.” He reminded her. She nodded and hid under her blanket as they continued their march. They were heading west, most likely to mass at Highgarden. If she could ride to Storm’s End before they left, she could give the castle warning. But she had only left to avoid Robert in the first place! Would it be different now with another man’s child in her belly? She didn’t know, but it was a better plan then trying to cross the whole of the realm during war.

Storm’s End was well aware of the Reach’s intended siege when she arrived. Men dug trenches in rings around the fortress. Carts of grain and scared peasants streamed through the gates. She had to drop her disguise and don her lady voice to even get a second glance.

A steward harried her into a solar and told her the Lord of Storm’s End would meet her there. She braced herself expecting an irate Robert, but when the Maester and lord arrived it was serious young man who must have been Stannis.

“My lord,” She curtsied and tried not to scowl as Ser Stannis stared at her belly.

“Lady Lyanna,” He replied. “I’m sure my brother and yours will be pleased to hear of your wellbeing.”

“Pleased enough to call off this damnable war?” She snapped. “This is all a misunderstanding.”

“Then King Aerys didn’t demand my brother’s head on pike?” He snapped back.

She blinked. The letter had spoke of Brandon and Father’s death, of Lord Arryn’s treachery, and a brewing war but nothing about the king.

“I had not heard anything of that.” She admitted.

“I suspect there are many things you haven’t heard of late.” Stannis said. “Ser Penrose will find room for you somewhere. Maester Cressen, please attend to her.” He left without a look back. The old Maester remained and gently offered to escort her to his chambers. Lyanna glared at him and marched out without a word.

Her mare was crammed into the stables with the horses of the castle and half the stormland’s. A draft horse sat in the over-large stall across from hers and screamed as approached. She leaned against the half wall and whistled to him as he backed against the far wall. The whites of his eyes showed and she offered a hand to him. She could feel the fear rolling off of him. He’d been taken from whatever comfortable little farm he’d lived on to a place that smelled of dogs and strange men.

“Poor old boy.” She whispered under her breath. “You’re not where you’re supposed to be either.”

He took a stiff-legged step forward and stretched out his nose. She let him brush against her fingers. He took another step and she rubbed her palm over his soft pink nose. His sides heaved and sweat dripped down his withers. Her mare nickered behind them and the draft horse surged backward again.

She brushed out her mare’s coat herself and checked her hooves. After a moon’s turn of hard riding, the horse needed rest. The mare had come with her all the way south from the Isle of Faces and seen nearly as much as she had. It would be a shame if she went lame now. Covered in horsehair and much calmer, Lyanna left the mare with a blanket and fresh water. The draft horse picked up his ears when she stood up and watched her closely.

“Are you going to behave?” She asked. He snorted. She offered her hand again. He leaned into her touch this time. Satisfied, she opened the gate and joined him in the stall with her brushes. She moved far more carefully and talked to him softly the whole time but the gentle giant almost rolled over for her. The splintered wood walls showed he was more than capable of a powerful kick but she had no fear. She knew how to listen to the horses and hadn’t been bitten or kicked since she was a child.

The steward found her cleaning out mud encrusted hooves.

“Lady Lyanna!” Ser Penrose tutted. “We have been looking for you. This no time for a woman of your condition to be roaming the castle unattended.” The draft horse laid his ears back flat. She patted his neck and ducked under his head to leave the stall.

“Then where am I supposed to be?” She asked. She should have kept riding. Greywater Watch didn’t seem so far away now.

Steward Penrose escorted her to a room between the Maester’s chambers and the rooms of his own wife. It was serviceable though small and dull. Maester Cressen forbid her from doing anything entertaining and there were enough busy men that she could never find a moment alone to do those forbidden things anyway. Stannis led war councils and asked for her story once, but never invited her to the meeting that would determine her fate and the fate of Westeros. She was stuck sewing and weaving with a coterie of scared wives and daughters while Maester Cressen assured her that ‘ravens had been sent’.

The first reply she received was from the capitol, conveyed by the plump Maester. King Aerys ordered the Baratheons to release her and deliver his unborn grandchild to him immediately. Maester Cressen said that Stannis’ scowled even deeper than usual when he read the note.

The second reply came from Gulltown but was penned by Robert. He enthused about her safety and assured her he would ‘crush the lecher’s skull’ for his lady. He did not ask if she was well. Cressen had whispered about a second note addressed to the Maester asking about tansy tea. She had burned Robert’s letter and threatened to kill the old man if he ever thought of obeying the oaf. He paled satisfyingly and stumbled over himself to promise he meant her no harm. The child may be Rhaegar’s but it was hers first. Neither him nor Robert would have any sway over her child.

Benjen’s letter came third, written in the familiar hand of Maester Walys. Ben asked about her safety and for news of Ned. He apologized for not protecting her, pup that he was, and swore to protect Winterfell until she could come home. Could she, though? She longed to ride north again and raise her child in the familiar fortress with its godswood and hot springs. Ben could meet a Stark smaller than himself and Ned would sigh over her indiscretion but bounce the babe just like he had with Ben. Brandon would…Brandon wouldn’t do anything because Brandon was dead. The Winterfell of her youth was gone and she had killed it. She cried over Ben’s letter. When Lady Penrose found her she blamed the tears on her pregnancy and snarled when the woman tried to hug her.

Ned’s letter came forth and was as straightforward as her brother was in person. He told her of the battles fought so far and of his marriage to Catelyn Tully. He asked her to be careful and told her he didn’t know when he’d next be able to write. She folded the parchment carefully and kept it tucked away in the sewing basket she’d been given, next to Ben’s.

The fifth letter was what sent her straight into Stannis’ solar. Cressen had shuffled to her room immediately after the council broke and explained half of the letter when she stood and stormed back the way he came.

“Lady Lyanna-” Stannis started.

“Your brother is a fool.” She snapped. Steward Penrose gaped at her and the half-dozen other men still lingering in the room stared. Stannis glared at her.

“As much as fool as a woman who ran off with a Prince?” He asked. She took a step forward with a clenched fist but Cressen’s fingers closed around her shoulder.

“Tell him to agree to the talks.” She brushed off the Maester. “The Prince is offering clemency and a seat at the Grand Council.”

“In exchange for a marriage to you.” Stannis reminded her gently.

“In exchange for this.” She pointed at her belly. “This child is what he wants not me. Tell him to accept the terms and we can dethrone the madman who murdered by family. Our marriage is nothing in the eyes of your gods and worthless to your church. If Robert truly wants me, he’ll stop risking his life and life of my brother in this folly.”

“You married him?” Stannis stood and his eyes burned. “That changes much.”

“It changes nothing. Believe me, it’s worth nothing now.”

“It changes everything, Lady Stark.” He said. “Because you may well be carrying a boy third in line for the crown.”

Lyanna opened her mouth to snap back but stopped. He was right. Married in the eyes of the Old Gods or not, there was precedent for sons of second wives to inherit.  If Rhaegar was wrong and his ‘Visenya’ was born a boy, he would have a spare heir he didn’t want.

“My lord, we must capitalize on this.” One of the knights spoke up. “If Robert accepts the Parley, we can come to the table from a stronger position.”

Stannis didn’t respond. He was staring at her.

“We could have had this information much earlier.” He said through gritted teeth.

Lyanna sneered. “You could have. Perhaps, the next council will include me at the table.” She turned and left the room in what she hoped was a ladylike sweep.

She stormed into a Cressen’s chambers and was on her third draft of a letter to Ned when the Maester arrived.

“Princess,” He bowed slightly.

“Oh, not you too.” He rolled her eyes. “I should have let them keep thinking that Rhaegar kidnapped me.”

“But he did not.”

“It was a marriage in the eyes of the Old Gods.” She reminded him. “It didn’t have a single witness. No septon would accept it.” She rubbed at an eye and crossed out another line.

“But it was a marriage in your eyes at the time, am I wrong?”

She glared at the fresh ink. He was right. She had believed that her sons would be princes when she had met him on the Isle of Faces. She had believed that Rhaegar would fight his father and the Faith for her, then. Had she really been so mistaken or was her wolf’s rage leading her to a conclusion she wanted again?

“He was so, so sweet.” She whispered. It didn’t justify starting a war by accident and didn’t even fully explain herself but she wanted Cressen to understand. He was kind in his own way and had never looked at her with pity or disapproval, no matter how she snapped at him.

Cressen took the pen from her hands and picked up a fresh slip of parchment. “What do you want to say?” He asked.

The raven flew for Riverrun, Ned’s last known position. It suggested that he accept the terms of Parley and begged him to mute Robert’s anger as best he could.

Robert’s rage wasn’t muted. The next report they received spoke of a split in the rebel forces. The Stormland and Eyrie forces remained in the Riverlands, holding the vulnerable croplands against the Crownlanders and Reachmen. The North’s forces were marching south. There was to be no Parley.  Dornish were streaming through the Prince’s Pass, Lannister forces were marching to defend the capitol, and Rhaegar’s host was on the move again. Where exactly the Prince was heading wasn’t known but they had a bigger problem to worry them now; The Tyrells and Redwynes had laid siege to Storm’s End.

Every raven coming or going was shot down, leaving them silenced and deaf. The food and supplies stopped and suddenly rations were enforced. At least (at the very least) Stannis allowed her into his war council. At Cressen’s advice, she began reporting on the work of the castle’s seamstresses and weavers. Bandages and stiches would be needed soon and it gave her a stronger foot in the door.

He even asked for her ideas a few times. Brandon and Ned weren’t the only ones who learned how to wage war from Father and Maester Walys. Northron sieges, she quickly learned, were waged differently than southron ones but at the very least, it was something to say.

Ser Penrose curled up his lip at her when she walked into the room but he allowed her to step into Lady Cassana’s role as Lady of Storm’s End, checking inventories and duty rosters. She suspected it was Myra’s influence and thanked the woman one night in their sewing circle. She waved off the thanks. She had been helping her husband for years, she said. She was more than happy to have someone younger- and with fewer children to mind- take the job.

The reality of the siege didn’t fully hit until they ran out of eggs. It was such a simple thing but the loss cascaded through the castle. The bakers grumbled about loosing such a vital ingredient and suddenly their chickens were gone, too. Lyanna wanted to kick herself. She was the one who approved the meal of roasted chicken for the officers last week.

Eggs, such a little thing but now the soldiers fidgeted in their posts. They knew that they were already running out of food. How much longer would it be until they were out of pork or apples or flour? When two freeriders brawled over the last hard boiled egg, Lyanna and Penrose restructured the rations.

They killed the first horse on the beginning of the second moon’s turn. It was a great draft horse and Lyanna prayed that it wasn’t the one she met her first day in the castle. It fed every soldier for a whole day and the hide made a fresh tent for the men camped in the keep. The meal took an air of festivity but Lyanna knew it was the beginning of the true siege.

Six horses later, fresh war horns sounded over the hills. Lyanna ran up the steps as fast as her swollen belly would allow and squinted into the distance. It had to be Ned, marching her countrymen down to lift the siege and save her. She waited on the walls with Stannis and his council as the force marched closer. Cressen lifted his far eye to his face when the first banner crested the hill. He paled and lowered it with shaking hands. He handed the tool to first Stannis then her. The banners weren’t white with her familiar black wolf. They were inky black with a blood red dragon on them. Prince Rhaegar had arrived.

“I’m riding out with you for the Parley.” She told Stannis. He lifted a single eyebrow.

“He’s here because of me, Or because of this.” She gestured to her belly. “I’m going with you.”

It took longer to convince Penrose and Cressen. The steward thought it would weaken their position. Cressen fretted about injury to her child. In the end, they found her an overlarge mail shirt and a half helm to wear. She rode splay saddle on Ser Arthur’s tack. She couldn’t  resist the final insult.

The insulted knight of the Kingsguard rode with the prince on a dark gelding. Lord Commander Otto Hightower, Prince Llewyn Martell, and Ser Wendyll Went flanked the silver prince in addition. Stannis, Ser Penrose, Lyanna, and Commander Errol Estermont, Stannis’ battle advisor and uncle, rode to meet them.

The heralds listed their various titles but Lyanna could barely hear them. Rhaegar was watching her with the concentration of a crouching cat. When the last title was read, the group fell silent. The Kingsguard was waiting for Rhaegar to speak and Stannis was too stubborn to give in first. Silence stretched on awkwardly.

“My lords please!” Cressen finally cried. “You are reasonable men. Let cooler heads and fair tongues decide this before any more life is lost.”

“I did what I have done to save lives, Lyanna.” Rhaegar told her. He was speaking directly to her.

“Did your prophecies and visions include my family’s slaughter.” She snapped.

“What is done is done. Let us look to the future. This siege is unnecessary. You have your daughter to consider.” Rhaegar finally turned to the rest of the group. “Surrender, Lord Stannis. You have shed no unmerited blood. Your defiance can be forgiven. I wish to call a Great Council. My father is a great man but the trials of leadership have weighed on his health. Sit on the Council and cast your vote for me to take the throne. Agree to my terms and I will even spare your brother.”

“If my brother lives then he is Lord of Storm’s End and I would have no claim to his seat at the Council.” Stannis answered coolly. “You father executed a man is hall under the protection of Guest Rite. How many other atrocities has he committed? This is the first time that the dragon have faced the idea of justice for a long time. It will not be the last.” His chin rose defiantly as he spoke.

Rhaegar nodded as if he had already known what the answer would be. “Lyanna, have you traded one stag for another? I spared you the details of your father’s death only to protect you. Please, your life is too important to risk on this defiance.”

Lyanna spat off the side of her horse. Rhaegar sighed then wheeled his horse and rode back towards their camp. The Kingsguard followed but Ser Arthur lingered. He paused for a long moment watching her as if looking for answer before he followed his prince.

That night, the first attack came.


	2. Chapter 2

Cressen confined her to his chambers with especial emphasis of forbidding her from the walls. Instead, Renly ran from room to wall to room reporting what he saw. On his first trip he bubbled with excitement about the men with their armor and swords. The second he was wide eyed and shocked. His reports grew more and more upset as the night went on. She wanted to tell him to stop, to save him from the destruction but she had to know what was happening. His last run ended when he threw himself into Cressen’s arms sobbing.

“What happened! What’s going on?” Lyanna demanded. She wanted to rush out of the room, fighting off the Maester if need be but her body was shaking just from the lack of food and sleep.

Cressen was called away minutes later to attend to Lord Stannis. He had been struck by a mace and was unconscious in the yard. Renly sat on her bed with her until he cried himself into a fitful sleep. Lyanna didn’t sleep. The sound of battle drifted through the open window and her child kicked viciously at her ribs.

Another week of scattered assaults and terror passed. They had battered down for one last night and when the sun rose, the majority of their besiegers had decamped. The Targaryen and Tyrell forces were gone with only the Redwyne fleet and small army remaining. Lyanna drug herself, pale and tired, to the war council. She needn’t have bothered. They were as lost as she was. With no communication, they only had speculation as to why the Prince would retreat. Had there been a victory in the north or had the Grand Council actually convened? Their forces had been so weakened that they couldn’t defeat the token force left so they were still stuck.

It took Lyanna a few days to regain her strength enough to venture down to the stables. Only a handful of horses remained; colts and fillies of good lineages and her own mare. Lyanna could count her ribs and see where patches of coat were beginning to fall from her sides.  She stroked the mare’s nose and tried not to cry. They were terrified and hungry. She could practically feel it they way they shied away from every shout and slamming door.

“You didn’t need to save her.” Lyanna whispered. She didn’t know what told her Stannis was behind her. He walked too quietly for her to have heard him coming.

“You seem to take solace in the horse.” He explained

“I do. She’s the last thing I have left from the North.” The last part of her wild escape from Harrenhall. The dreams and hopes and giddying pursuit of some nebulous freedom had all left.

Stannis joined her at the stall’s door. His head was still bandaged from his wound and his face was bruised a hundred different colors. The mare nosed his hand looking for any food he might have.

“We’ll butcher her next.” Lyanna said. “She’s going to die. Might as well spare her a few more weeks of hunger and fear.”

Stannis nodded but didn’t say anything. He stroked her long nose and stood in silence.

He cleared his throat. “You could have ridden with the prince.”

“I could have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“May I ask why?”

“Why I didn’t ride with him or why I started all this?”

“Either.”

Lyanna took a deep breath.

“Because I didn’t want to marry your brother.”

“That’s it?”

“I didn’t want to be sent away from my home and forced to make heirs for some whoring Southron. Truly, I didn’t want to grow up and admit I had responsibilities. I was too used to riding the Wolf’s Wood with Brandon and Ben without a thought for my future. All I knew of Robert and the South came from Ned’s letters. He didn’t paint the most enticing picture. More with what he didn’t say than what he did.”

“You don’t have to shy away from the truth about my brother.” Stannis said. “He’s my brother; I already know it.”

“Rhaegar gave me a chance at freedom and look where it got me. I didn’t want to marry a whoring liar and look where it got me.” She laughed. There were tears in her eyes but she was still laughing.

Stannis place a hand on top of hers. She took it and held it tightly.

The horsemeat sat in her stomach like a rock. Fog sat heavy over the castle and made it feel even more like she was suffocating. She was fighting the need to vomit when Cressen arrived with a look of actual hope.

“Lady Lyanna, smugglers have arrived with news. They request your presence.”

Two men stood before Stannis and the council in the main. One was a bearded, sun-weathered man with dark, rough sewn clothes the other…

“Ned!” She threw herself into her brother’s arms. He held her close and she could feel him shake slightly as he pressed his face against her shoulder.

“Lord Stark? What was the use of this deception?” Stannis demanded.

“To see if I was here willingly.” Lyanna rolled her eyes.

Ned pulled away. He looked as if he had aged ten years since she had last seen him.

“It is true. I apologize for the deception, Ser Stannis but I had to be sure that my sister was well before I offered you my help.”

Stannis recovered from his surprise quickly. “And what does that help entail?”

“My forces are camped a days march from here. I intend to lift the siege.” Ned answered bluntly. “And Master Seaworth has done more than the not inconsiderable task of bringing me here. We have several barrels of onions and salt pork in the hold of boat.”

“Seaworth?” Penrose repeated. “As in the smuggler Davos Seaworth.”

“Aye, m’lord.” The man answered. “The talk of the taverns is that the prince is starving out the mother of his own child. I thought I would offer my skills to my liege.”

“Your skills as a smuggler.” Stannis reminded him. “Skills that would have you imprisoned on the spot any day but this.”

“Aye.” Seaworth locked eyes with Stannis. For all that he had at least a decade on the young Baratheon, Lyanna could see respect in the smuggler’s eyes.

“Stannis, you can’t!” Lyanna cried.

“The law is clear. Even if we have turned away from the king, it does not mean have turned away from his justice.”

Lyanna looked to her brother for support. Ned was watching Stannis with appraising curiosity.

“You have broken the law and no present good deeds will erase that.” Stannis said. “Lord Estermont, what is the punishment for smuggling?”

“The loss of a finger, hands, hands, or head depending on the severity of the crime, my lord.” His uncle answered. “From what I’ve heard of Davos Seaworth, he should lose one hand.”

“The first knuckle from each finger, then. Does that sound fair, my lords?” Stannis was not looking for approval.

“Only if you hold the blade yourself, m’lord.” Seaworth agreed. Lyanna saw the corner of Ned’s mouth twitch up when Stannis nodded.

The smuggler left again that night with his fingers bandaged and Ned aboard his ship. Lyanna stayed behind with an aching back, aching feet, and an anxious heart.

They cooked onion soup by the cauldron full with salt pork rationed to the men who could still hold a sword. The smell filled the castle until it made her wanted to wretch but nothing had ever tasted so good. Onion soup, roasted onions, onions fried in horse meat, onion brined in sea salt and fish sauce. She ate enough onion to last anyone a lifetime but is was heavenly.

The food wouldn’t last them more than a week at this rate but they didn’t need it to last because on the third morning, Ned’s army struck. Crannogmen crept through the forests by moonlight and slashed bowstring, untethered horses, and poisoned food; slow burning tapers were hidden under oiled canvas tents. It was underhanded and hardly honorable, the war council had agreed but honor only did you so much good when the cats were the next thing on the menu.

Lyanna didn’t sleep that night. She sat in Stannis’ solar with Renly asleep in her lap and waited, watching the eastern horizon. In the courtyard, Stannis and the last of the castle’s soldiers sat with their armor and weapons at the ready. As the first glimpse of sunlight lit the horizon, the first of the tapers caught aflame. The cry of fire rose up in the Redwyne forces and then another tent and another. As the sun crested the waves and blinded anyone facing east, towards the castle itself, three hammers came down on the frightened Reachmen. From the north and south, Ned’s army charged with fresh horses and fresh men, fueled by anger for their dishonored Lady Stark. From the castle, Stannis charged with every man who could hold a sword.

Lyanna wished she could be there. She could hold a blade better than the farmhands and fishermen. It was her war and she should be able to fight in it. But as her brother and could-have-been goodbrother shed blood, she was reminded that her battle was coming next.

Renly ran screaming for Cressen when the first cramp came. It felt as if her body was ripping itself apart. Broken fingers, a kick from a horse, sword training injuries, and falls; none of them were quite like the deep, splitting pain in her core. It wasn’t true labor, the Maester assured her, just her body preparing itself. If this wasn’t her actual labor, Lyanna didn’t know how she would survive this child. Two strong-armed baker’s wives carried her back to her room and Myra Penrose was at her side in moments. She held Lyanna’s hand as the cramps peaked and then ebbed away. She spoke of her own children and their births.

Hours later, after she had drifted asleep, she woke with Myra gone but Ned and Stannis on either side of her. She didn’t stir. Their voices had brought her to consciousness.

“Our mother died bearing our younger brother.” Ned said, seemingly prompted by nothing.

“I am sorry.” Stannis answered.

The two men stayed silent for a long while, almost long enough for Lyanna to fall away again.

“Maester Cressen delivered Robert, Renly, and myself.” Stannis finally said. “He is a skilled Maester.”

“I believe that.”

“When will your forces depart?”

“As soon as we can muster once again. When will you?”

“The countryside must have suffered under the Reachman influence. My duty is to the people and their wellbeing. Other granaries will resupply us and Estermount forces will attempt to break the blockade on our harbor.”

“This war isn’t long for the world, Lord Stannis.” Ned said. “Wait until it is over to risk more lives.”

“You do not know that.” Stannis answered.

“Robert is marching on King’s Landing. The whole of the Targaryen might is waiting for him. He wants Rhaegar’s head more than he wants his men to survive.”

“Then we should pray for his success.” Stannis said sharply.

“I’ve agreed to Rhaegar’s Council. As has Lord Tully. Lord Arryn is treating with the Velaryons, last I heard.”

Stannis chair skittered backward. “So that’s your plan? Wait for my brother to kill himself on Rhaegar’s sword and then play the repentant bannerman!”

“Robert is as much my brother as he is yours.” Her brother said. To anyone else, it would be emotionless but Lyanna could hear the tells of anguish in his voice. “He is set on this course and you have a better chance of dissuading a storm than you do Robert.”

“And if he does kill Rhaegar?” Stannis snapped. “What happens to your Council then? Who will your collection of disloyal climbers put on the throne? Prince Aegon and his wetnurse?”

“There are other men of high birth and Targaryen blood.” Ned answered shortly. “That was once Robert’s idea.”

Stannis didn’t answer. Her brother’s chair slid back and his footsteps left the room. She didn’t know why she didn’t stop him.

The war was over before her pregnancy but she wasn’t told the details until after the blood had stopped flowing. Maester Cressen, Myra Penrose, and two grateful midwives clustered around her as she felt her body rip itself in two. She screamed and begged for her mother, the first time in years. She fell into darkness before she ever saw her child.

The fever blurred her memories. She could have sworn that Brandon and Father were standing with her when she pushed and pushed. But, no, it was Mother, as pale as she had been in her own birthing bed. Rhaegar hovered at the edge of her vision as she lay in bed, feeling too hot and too cold by turn. The air rested in her lungs like water and she begged for open air, for a weirwood tree to repent before. It broke with Maester Cressen leaning over her, looking more haggard than any scholar ever should.

“Do you have a name?” Stannis asked her later, when she held her son in her arms.

The fact that he was a son was unendingly pleasing to her. He was no Visenya. He didn’t even look like a Targaryen. For a brief moment, she considered Orys Baratheon, purely from a historical perspective. Brandon and Rickard were too painful to think of. Ned was the one who truly should have a child named after him but he would refuse it. Maybe Edwyle or Rodrick for her grandfathers. Torrhen, Elric, Edric, and Artos, were good Northron names but they all felt wrong. He had not been born in Winterfell.

“Jon.” She said. “A First Man name still used in the South.”

Stannis nodded. “He reminds me of Renly. When he was born, our Mother placed him in my arms before he had even opened his eyes. I remember how dark his hair was and how he seemed too small to exist.”

Just a few months ago, Lyanna had looked at Stannis and seen a boy. Now, with a child in his arms and fresh scars from the battles he’d led, he looked like a man grown.

Which was good considering he was now Lord of Storms End in truth. The news came to her in bits and pieces, buffered by treatment from Cressen and visits from Myra. Robert had led his forces in a charge against King’s Landing itself while the Westerland and Dornish forces battled in the Riverlands against the last of the Rebellios Eyriemen and Riverlords. It was a battle for the legends, as far as all reports were concerned. Whether Robert had fought like the Warrior himself or just a crazed barbarian depended on the author. They all agreed on a few facts, though. Robert had met the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dane in combat and crushed the man’s leg to pulp only to fall by Rhaegar’s blade moments later. Her son was no orphan, despite his near miss.

Aerys lay dead in the Red Keep, burned to a crisp by the wildfire he had used on her father. No one could agree whether he had drank it willingly like Aerion Brightflame, been betrayed by one of his own Kingsguard, or if it had been the Dowager Queen herself who had burned him alive. Lyanna personally hoped that the gods had finally seen fit to kill the man with his own weapon.

Months later, Lyanna stood on the battlements with Jon in her arms. Ned’s procession was riding back towards Storm’s End. She could just see the glimmer of sunlight off armor in the distance. Rhaegar would be with him with all the gravitas of a dragon king. He had been coronated in the Great Sept of Baelor as the Great Lords of Westeros watched. It was possibly the best attended coronation in the history of Westeros, with all but the Princess of Dorne in attendance. Stannis had sailed ahead before the king and spoke of the pomp with thinly veiled irritation. He had also spoken of the intense debate between Rhaegar and Ned that had nearly lost her brother the pardon granted to the former rebels. 

“Do you think Queen Elia will be with him?” She asked Stannis. Neither of them looked away from the approaching army. They did not march with the intent to bear arms but they were still a risk.

“Possibly.” He answered. “She will want to provide a strong face. Whether she is stronger in King’s Landing with her heirs or riding out to face you is her opinion.”

“I don’t want to face her. I don’t want to be queen. I wanted to be free of Robert and now I want to be free of Rhaegar.”

They returned to their silent watch. Jon fussed slightly in her arms and she shifted him. Stannis offered his hand out wordlessly and she transferred her son to him. He had grown to like her son and Lyanna had seen a new sort of kindness in him as he spoke to Renly about Jon and how Renly really had been that small once, truly.

“Stannis?” She said, coming upon an idea.

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to be queen. I didn’t want to marry Robert but that doesn’t mean I never wanted to be Lady of Storm’s End.”

Stannis studied her face, seemingly coming upon the same idea.

“There is a precedent,” Lyanna continued. “For the younger son to marry his brother’s betrothed.”

Stannis frowned in thought. “True. And it would defuse this situation between the Queen and King. Dorne would be quieted, and the marriage pact would be honored, and…” He seemed to be searching for the right words. “It would not be a disagreeable arrangement, my lady.” He finished quietly.

“Yes,” she mused, “not entirely disagreeable, indeed.” She grinned. They both knew they had duties and she was done running from her future.

Her maiden’s cloak was just a simple grey one they borrowed from one of the servants. The Septon grumbled but Cressen twisted his old friend’s arm. Stannis had already confided in her that he had lost all belief in Gods, and the Seven weren’t even hers to begin with. It was a sham of a marriage but when Ned rode through the gates, Lyanna greeted him as the Lady of Storm’s End.


	3. Epilogue

Jon stood straight as an arrow as the gate creaked open and the sound of trumpets flooded in. Next to her, Stannis stiffened and Lyanna forced herself to swallow. This was a moment of judgement for her family. Ser Jon Connington, Hand of the King, was dead and the political machine of Westeros was on the move as it hadn’t been in years. Cassarra and Davith whispered to each other next to their half-brother, too far away for her to shush them now. She forced her hands to remain at her side rather than smooth over her stomach where she knew that another child was growing. She could only pray that this one would stay and wouldn’t take her with it.

The courtyard of Storm’s End fell to a knee as King Rhaegar Targaryan, First of his Name rode in on a fine white stallion. The serving maids would be sighing after him for weeks but she knew better. She had sighed over his pretty face and beautiful words, too. Behind him rode his Kingsguard; Lord Commander Otto Hightower, Sers Barristan Selmy, Wendell Whent, Loras Tyrell, Mandon Moore, and Jaime Lannister. Benjen stood behind her son with his own white cloak flapping in the wind. The white wolf, they called him, the pup who travelled south and swore his life to the king to protect his nephew. She didn’t know how she would have survived without her brother.

The Kingsguard was all here because nearly the whole of House Targaryan had descended on Storm’s End. Prince Aegon rode beside his father with his dark Dornish eyes taking in everything with a curled lip. His sister, Princess Rhaenys rode after the wheel house, her betrothed Renly close by and their favored guard Ser Loras a length behind. The Princess turned and made a quiet joke and both men laughed. The procession came to halt with their red garbed guards filling the courtyard.

Rhaegar dismounted and stepped to the wheelhouse. The courtyard held its breath as his wife descended.  Cersei Targaryan, once a Tyrell but always a Lannister, gracefully stepped out of her opulent carriage. It had been an amazing coincidence that her first husband Willas Tyrell had passed so soon after Queen Elia’s death. The lion had won in the end. She had her dragon and her rose, and now her belly was swollen with what Rhaegar must have assumed to be his daughter. Her son Joffrey, heir to the Reach, stepped out behind her. He was golden haired and slim with sharp green eyes. Lyanna watched Ser Loras as his nephew came into view. The young knight’s face never changed from it’s easy smile.

Princess Daenerys stepped into the light next and blinked about with wide lilac eyes. She wore a wispy violet dress and her long silver hair was drawn back in a braid. The final member of the family, Prince Viserys was half a continent away in the Iron Islands with his barbarian Greyjoy wife, probably still brooding about his failed bid to circumspect Aegon in the line of succession. The lot of them with their blonde hair and false smiles, she hated that they had come here.

But they had come because her son was as much a dragon as Rhaenys or Aegon. He was Rhaegar’s son and whatever his father was planning, his childhood with her was over. Lyanna took Jon’s hand in her own briefly. He squeezed back. When they stood, she faced her former lover with all the northron ice she could muster.

She was a wolf. She was a Stark. She was the Lady of Storm’s End who married no false dragon. She was stronger than Rhaegar judged her. She would make sure that would survive once again.


End file.
